


rebirth

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson is a dork, Daisy And Her Huge Crush On Coulson, F/M, Romantic Tension, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: Eventually it’s Mace who suggests S.H.I.E.L.D. should simply honour Coulson for his services and sacrifices, for all the years he has been working for the agency. Publicly. Meaning in front of people. A lot of people. In a celebratory way. With people toasting to him. Also publicly.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts).



> This turned out longer than what I'm comfortable with at the moment. Hope it's still consistent enough :)  
> Also, please ignore the intelligent title. I couldn't come up with anything better.

**one**

It takes some persuasion, a little well-meant pushiness, and three cups of coffee. Talbot is the one who started the whole thing – it’s understandable, really, they need Romanova for a series of missions, for various reasons, it’s complicated. That, of course, means that Natasha, among others who are going to take part in the process, will need to know Coulson isn’t dead, preferably before running into him. It’s Daisy who brings that up, and the relief on Coulson’s face is something incredibly obvious. 

As per usual, Talbot huffs a little before agreeing, and eventually it’s Mace who suggests S.H.I.E.L.D. should simply honour Coulson for his services and sacrifices, for all the years he has been working for the agency. Publicly. Meaning in front of people. A lot of people. In a celebratory way. With people toasting to him. Also publicly.

Coulson looks a little like he’s going to faint, and he tries to protest, several times, but then he looks at Daisy who is really trying not to actually push him to agree but thinks it would really do him good, and she nods almost imperceptibly, with that tiny smile of hers that isn’t even really a smile, Coulson doesn’t know what it is, but it suffices to make him finally agree. Talbot looks relieved, like he finally doesn’t need to deal with this discussion anymore because it’s going to be in the busybody hands of the PR unit, and more Mace’s kind of job than his. 

Daisy looks like she wants to squeal a little but manages to deem that an unprofessional idea at the last possible moment. It makes Coulson smile for the first time since the topic was brought up, and he thinks, okay, if this is something Daisy approves of, he’ll allow them to put a stupid medal around his neck and raise champagne glasses or whatever. To be honest, even if he absolutely hates being the center of attention, it really is going to make things a little easier for him. (His first thought actually is: I can dump the sunglasses when I’m in New York.)

**two**

What Coulson doesn’t figure out right away is that this event is also going to require him to make a speech, sort of like an acceptance speech for when he receives the medal. The audience is going to be agencies only, basically, but there’s going to be a lot of press and he’s not going to rule out that the whole thing is going to be on television. He doesn’t tell anyone, but it actually makes him quite nervous. 

Eventually, Daisy finds him in the kitchen one early morning, bent over a few sheets of paper, fanatically scribbling at four o’clock. She almost whispers so as not to startle him.

"Hey."  
He looks up, puzzled, clearly troubled. "Hey." It sounds defeated.  
"Writing your Oscars speech?"  
It makes him smirk a little, at least. "Basically, yes."  
"You don’t look happy."  
"Uh, I’m – not."  
"Coffee?"  
He sighs so deeply that Daisy really feels sorry for him. "Yes. God. Please."  
"Black?"  
"Like Talbot’s soul."  
"Coming right up."

He looks over the last page he’s written, then just turns all of the sheets around in a tiny fit of frustration and lets them drop onto the floor in a tiny stack.  
"I can’t deal with this right now."  
"You’re going to be fine, Coulson." She turns around. "You’re a great public speaker."  
"I _was_."  
"Well, you’re back from the dead. I hear that only happens to the best guys."

He smiles, flattered, almost a little embarrassed.  
"I won’t have five loaves of bread and two fish, though. They’re going to hate me."  
"Why would they – why would anyone hate you? God, Coulson, stop beating yourself up."  
"I feel so guilty for not letting anyone know."  
"Protocol. Orders. Not your choice."  
"I still could have –"  
" _No._ "  
"Yes, Ma’am. Sorry, Ma’am." There’s a twink in his eye and Daisy feels a little accomplished.

She puts their two mugs on the table in front of him, then sits down to face him, pulls her leg up. Pulling her mug closer with one hand, she briefly ruffles her morning hair. He is fascinated for a moment, then hides behind his mug.  
"Hm. Your coffee is better than everyone else’s."  
She smiles, proud to hear that from Coulson, who must be a secret barista.  
"How do you get coffee like that out of _that_ machine?"  
She shrugs. "I don’t know. I guess I just press a lot of coffee into the filter." He nods, not convinced. "I do that too."  
For a second, she hesitates, then looks straight at him and says, "I added a bit of cinnamon. Just a hint."  
It makes him smile. "It’s great. Thanks."  
Daisy almost blushes. Almost.

**three**

The sun is shining like it’s some sort of competition, and Daisy has had to take off her cardigan as she’s working in the kitchen to make an apple pie. (It’s harder than it looks, okay, Daisy has never been great at baking, but she’s trying really hard, it’s Mack’s birthday after all.)

Without any introduction, Coulson half-bursts into the kitchen right as Daisy’s got both hands covered in dough, her black tank top full of little flour clouds. His eyes linger on her for just the tiniest moment. She notices he isn’t wearing a tie – he hasn’t been wearing one most of the time recently, but this suits definitely looks like it requires one.  
He pulls two ties out of his pocket, one blue silk, one with blue and black stripes. "Which one?"  
"Coulson. It’s an informal little birthday party for Mack."  
He sighs. "It’s not for – it’s for – you know."  
"Oh. Wait."

She extracts her hands from the dough, carefully washes and dries them before she takes the ties from his hands. She successively holds one tie, then the other, to Coulson’s neck. He’s sort of holding his breath, and okay, this is pretty intimate, even for them. 

"I’m not sure," she says, after giving the matter some more thought, measuring him up somewhat. He still looks nervous.  
"If I had to choose between these two, I’d take the blue one," she tells him.  
"But?"  
"But I don’t think either of them is perfect."  
He looks crushed.  
"I mean, they’re great ties, and this is a great suit, but – I think you should probably wear something else altogether," she blurts out, almost regrets it because Coulson is somehow making puppy eyes, but it’s the truth.

"Okay."  
"Don’t sulk," she says. "I’ll – I’ll dress you. Okay?"  
He looks alarmed, but in a positive way, if that’s possible.  
"I mean if that’s okay. I think I’d be able to choose something really nice. I mean it’s going to me more like some sort of dinner party," she adds. "Sure, there are going to be speeches and everything, but I’m sure Maria is going to organize some sort of really nice celebratory dinner. You know her."  
"Yeah."  
"Do you trust me?"  
He almost looks offended, but there’s the hint of a smile too. "Of course."  
"Okay. We’re going to pick clothes for you on the weekend, okay?"  
He nods, suddenly absurdly happy with the idea. Mere minutes later, he’s back, earning himself an approving look from Daisy for his Princess Leia t-shirt as he approaches to help her cut the birthday apple pie into even pieces.

**four**

She finds him in the kitchen (she always finds him in the kitchen). At first, she almost doesn’t see him because he hasn’t turned on the lights, the green emergency exit thing above the door the only source of light in the room.  
"Well hello," she says, almost biting her tongue for failing at trying to sound natural.  
"Hey," he says, somewhat dryly.  
Seeing he’s actually nursing a drink, she grabs a glass and sits down next to him. "Okay. Spill."  
He really, really wants to smile at her for doing that, and for immediately grasping the situation, but then doesn’t. He gives her a grave look instead.

"I don’t feel ready for this. I don’t deserve this fucking medal."  
For a moment, she tries to something really clever to say, then just goes with the straight truth.  
"You do."  
He swallows at that, because it’s so direct and honest.  
"For what, though? For letting Loki poke through my heart? For supervising the goddamn experiments? For hiding out in this team ever since New York? For being responsible for – for all the stuff nobody should ever be responsible for?"  
"Uh, yes."  
He shakes his head, takes a sip. "I shouldn’t be celebrated. You should."

Her eyebrows shoot upward at that. "Me. Coulson. No."  
He’s about to retort something, but she’s quicker (she’s still sober). "Absolutely not. I mean this is a little too much for me as it is. I’m definitely not thanking Jeff for all the publicity. Sure, it’s somewhat helpful, I mean since I’m trying to be some sort of ambassador here. But do I like it? Not in the slightest. It’s absolutely contrary to everything I wanted for myself I guess. I’ve always tried to be anonymous, and now this. All the headlines."  
She sighs, downs what’s in her glass. "I mean it’s fine. It’s the job. But did I choose it? Definitely not."  
He nods, slowly. "Yeah. I get that." After a moment of thought, he refills both their glasses, Daisy eyeing the bottle a little suspiciously (or maybe it’s just the light and she’s trying to read the label).

"Don’t get me wrong. I think I liked being ‘dead’."  
She looks at him expectantly, like he should absolutely offer an explanation for that.  
"I – I don’t like who I was before that. Being dead to the public gave me the possibility to hide from it. Now that Talbot is pushing me back into the spotlight, I feel like I need to – to own up to everything. I mean I do, but I preferred if some things just stayed … buried."  
She chuckles.  
"Sorry. Pun not intended," he adds.  
"No, I know. I’m not saying it’s easy. But I think … You know, I think it might be good. No hiding. No guilt. No excuses."  
He swallows.  
"Also, apart from all that, I think Natasha should know."  
"Yeah. She should."

It’s Daisy who pours now.  
"I’m scared," he says, and it sounds like it’s taken him a lot of effort to say that.  
"I know," she says, and it’s too dark to really see it, but her hand briefly covers his on the table.  
"I’ve changed," he says. "I’m not the same person anymore. And I’m not the same guy you met when you first joined S.H.I.E.L.D."  
She seems to think about that for a bit. "Of course you changed. But you’re also the same person."  
Their eyes meet for a moment, and Daisy thinks it feels like there’s suddenly some sort of electric tension in the room.

After what feels like a very long time, she says, "Trust me, Coulson. You’ve earned that medal. You’ve earned it many times." She downs her drink, stands up. "Don’t sell yourself short."  
It sounds very warm, and far too nice. She’s about to go, and Coulson feels obligated to stand up, too. Her face looks different in this odd green light, a little unreal. It’s beautiful.

"Thank you, Daisy," he manages, approaches a little, and for a split-second, she feels almost sure he’s going to kiss her, because he seems to lean in a little, but then he touches her shoulder, squeezes it lightly.  
"Anytime," she says, then, seeing his expression, adds, "you know I’m right."  
He can only nod to that.

**five**

Daisy’s behind the wheel. Coulson looks a little nervous when she looks at him as they stop at the next red light. It’s okay, though, because she knows it’s not because of her driving. Coulson has gotten used to that by now. Also, he’s been somewhat less nervous lately since he’s spoken to Natasha on the phone on Tuesday.  
"Hey."  
He looks at her.  
"Cheer up, Coulson. This is supposed to be fun."  
He seems to relax a little at that. "You’re right. I’ve never been shopping for clothes with anyone else before, though."  
"Not once?"  
"Well, no, I have. But the clothes were never for me."  
"Well, you’re in the right hands now. Finally."  
He chuckles.

It’s one of those boutiques that are just a little too expensive for regular shopping but whose name you normally forget immediately after having been there. Coulson seems to like it, though.  
"They have _cufflinks_ ," he tells her, leaning in (he’s having a hard time whispering, and Daisy counts that as excitement).

"I think you should wear a smoking," Daisy says.  
"I don’t think I’m the type for –"  
"Trust me," she interrupts him, then looks him up and down pretty intently, as if she’s measuring him, and he’s not sure if he should be blushing.

It doesn’t actually take that long. Daisy is pretty determined, and Coulson doesn’t resist, really. Honestly, though, she’s doing a pretty great job at finding things that fit him, always making sure the colour suits him, too.  
After having tried on the fourth or fifth item that fits his size perfectly, he can’t help asking her how she learned to do that.  
"I didn’t," she admits. "But I mean … We’ve known each other for a while."  
At that, he blushes anyway.

A short while later, Coulson steps out from behind the curtain in a dark grey smoking, and Daisy claps a little. The smile on his face is priceless. Obviously, Coulson is used to picking elegant clothes (mainly suits) for himself, but he would never have thought to try on anything like that. He likes to play it safe.  
"You look great," she says, and she sounds so genuinely pleased that Coulson feels like hugging her.  
"Are you comfortable?"  
He smiles. "Yes. It’s amazing, it always takes me much longer to find the perfect size," he says.  
"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?"  
He shakes his head, and Daisy steps aside so he can approach the large mirror behind her. 

He’s really surprised.  
"Do you like it?"  
She’s stepped closer, and if you look into the mirror, it looks like she’s resting her chin on Coulson’s shoulder because she’s standing right behind him. It makes him feel a little tingly.  
He nods. "Thank you."  
"You’re welcome. The colour’s great for you."

She feels really proud as they’re paying. They’ve picked out a great shirt, too, and Daisy has sneaked a pair of cufflinks with Cap’s shield on them into their basket. Coulson gives her a peck on the cheek as he discovers them in the bag during their drive back, and Daisy hasn’t felt this happy and accomplished in a while.

**six**

Just as expected, she finds him in the men’s bathroom on the third floor, about ten minutes before the ceremony is going to start. He looks nervous.  
"Hello, handsome," she says, trying to lighten the mood. He looks grateful, but he’s struggling with the cufflinks, and he hasn’t tied his tie yet.  
"Let me help."

She steps closer, and he notices the dress. It’s an incredible dress, simple but incredibly elegant, and bordeaux red. He briefly follows the plunging neckline, but then her hands are holding his, carefully applying the cufflinks to both sleeves. It’s such a small gesture, but he suddenly feels quite touched she’s doing this for him, especially since the extremely concentrated face she makes is giving away how important this apparently is to her. 

Then, before he can finish the thought, she reaches for his tie, guides it around his neck, then carefully turns up his collar from under it. Maybe it’s just his perception, but it feels like she’s doing everything deliberately slowly, like every little thing is of great importance. As she’s turning the collar back down, her fingers briefly graze his chin.

She takes two steps back, somehow leaving a bit of an empty space where she stood. Squinting a little, she checks his appearance, then smiles appreciatively.  
"You look awesome," she says. "I’m getting some serious Bond vibes here."  
She’s trying to flatter him, and he really appreciates it. It makes him smile.  
"Okay," she says, approaches a little bit. The look in her eyes is somewhat intense. "Be yourself, Coulson, okay?"  
He nods.  
"You deserve this. Don’t let anyone underestimate you."  
He nods again. She takes another step towards him, now really entering his personal space, then slowly smoothes down his smoking jacket on his shoulders.

He reaches up, carefully touching her elbows.  
"Thank you, Daisy," he says, and he’s so serious that she thinks, I’m really glad.  
"Of course," she says, "but I didn’t do anything. You kicked ass, you’re getting recognized for it, and all while looking really hot."  
It sort of just slipped out, and she’s biting her lip a little, because while it’s still true, that’s not the word she meant to say.  
For a moment, the look on his face is really questioning, but she holds his gaze, because screw it, the fact that she said it accidentally doesn’t make it any less true.

He swallows, then pulls her a little closer, and then even closer as she doesn’t do anything to indicate he should stop. His lips are almost touching hers now, but then it’s her who initiates the kiss, deepening it soon, slipping her tongue into his mouth very carefully, like she doesn’t want to intrude but she still needs the message to be very clear.  
After what feels like a very long and yet far too short a time, she pulls back, smiling. "Good thing I’m not wearing any lipstick."  
He nods, practically beaming.  
"Forget the speech," she says. "Just say what feels right."  
He smiles at her like this is exactly what he needed to hear. "Okay." It’s almost a whisper. "Thank you." He pulls her back in, places a very light kiss on her lips, then turns around to go, looking at her for as long as possible.  
"I’ll be at the back of the audience," she says, and it’s not a coincidence that it sounds like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you liked it! :)


End file.
